The Letter
by jen3227
Summary: Harry happens upon whispered voices one night, Hermione is tutoring Malfoy, and Draco receives a letter from his mother - with what as a result?
1. One of Four

**Title:** The Letter  
**Word Count:** 7,100+  
**Status:** Complete  
**Rating:** M  
**Pairing:** Draco/Hermione, and I guess a little bit of Harry/Ginny in the first chapter!  
**Summary:** Harry happens upon whispered voices one night, Hermione is secretly tutoring Malfoy, and Draco receives an important letter from his mother - with what as the result?  
**Disclaimer:** I honestly have never owned anything as handsome as Draco Malfoy, or anyone as smart as Hermione Granger – those are all JKR's. Not mine at all.  
**Beta:** MICHELLE, seriously, is the best :). And I'm so glad she had time to look at this with her classes and whatnot.  
**Banner:** made by **Elysium** from _TDA_!  
**Notes:** SO. This was a hot mess when I first wrote it, then went through a crazy-good beta, but I believed it still needed some work. So here's that work :). I hope you guys like it!

**The Letter: One of Four**

**i.  
**_Day 1; 7:47 pm._

Harry yawned, absentmindedly squeezing Ginny's fingers in silent reassurance; for his own or hers he wasn't certain at all. Not only was he constantly worried about the impending war that - surely, he thought - was coming soon, it seemed Ginny couldn't get away from such depressing thoughts either. He frequently found her crying, shaking so hard it took him more than an hour to calm her down with false security and broken whispers, promises that he could never follow through with spewing from his lips like a bad habit.

_There was still time_, he'd always think. Time to find the horcruxes, time to kill Voldemort, and endless amounts of time to live the rest of his life with his girlfriend and lover, Ginny. He would continue being best friends with Hermione, best friends with Ron, and he'd have the Weasley clan to fill in that empty place for a family in his heart. He'd have it all. He deserved at least that much.

Harry tried so hard to always remember to stay hopeful. He found he reminded himself far too frequently in the day, almost constantly at night, and not a moment passed when he was with Ginny that he didn't think about it, worrying so much that he'd never get to spend that much time with her again. So he'd started to drag her out to the Black Lake, just to be with her, whenever he felt particularly pensive and unsure about the future.

Simply, the scenery was beautiful to look at, creating a tranquil atmosphere he almost thrived for constantly. But having Ginny there with him made it even better. She sometimes soothed his worries away, brushed them off like they really never existed, and other times sympathized in his thoughts and cried with him, seeking comfort in his arms – and no matter how much he shook with her, cried with her, he always loved to have her sink into his arms, and then have her there for him in return. It was, if anything less than comforting, the best way to get over his problems, perhaps only for the moment, and he wished severely – every time they did this – that he could just stay out here with her forever.

But that just wasn't so, with the interference of life and all.

Ginny was wrapped comfortably in his arms this time, falling into his body like she wouldn't think of leaving in a million years. It was really nice because, silence or not, they always stayed out here until it got too cold to bear, and he could never get enough of her. He was infinitely glad that Ginny was able to sit here with him without getting bored like he presumed many other girls would, especially since he'd heard several different stories from various people about how obnoxious their girlfriends could be. He was very appreciative of Ginny, and he wouldn't trade it for anything else.

He was, of course, hesitant to leave her at the end of the year, and the more the days grew closer to his graduation, the more he began to hate the fact he was a year older than her. Harry was content on having her come back without him next year (she was safe at Hogwarts), regardless of his anger at knowing he wouldn't be seeing her often at all. Not like this, he thought.

His worries about her danger, and his as well, were momentarily lifted since he'd found and destroyed the remaining horcruxes that had been left following Dumbledore's death. After the funeral, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had taken their respective possessions they'd received from their former Headmaster and decided that now was as good a time to start their quest as any. Harry had spent his summer staying at Grimmauld Place with both Ron and Hermione. From there, they had worked together every moment they could to uncover what each horcrux was and where each one was located. They were constantly helped by Order members, aided with opinions and conclusions and evidence; the most frequent being Remus, Tonks, Molly, Arthur, and on the rare occasion, Mad-eye. It was only a matter of weeks before several upon several clues and leads were what they had, backed up by facts and information only Hermione and Tonks had been able to gather braving the wee hours of the morning.

The three of them insisted on leaving together when they finally decided to retrieve a horcrux and a reluctant Remus and Molly let them go with a hug instead of a lecture. Harry had counted on these to instill the same emotions in him after the first time they had gone on a quest. He had felt assured that people were looking out for him, ready on a moment's notice to come after him should trouble arise, and the rush of a serious vendetta on finding Voldemort had multiplied. He had thought too long and too hard on how his life had been molded because of such a powerful and rage-filled wizard, and Harry had felt the rush of _something_ every time he left Grimmauld to stop the hardships of war at all costs. He found out only later, after obtaining and destroying all pieces of Voldemort, that it had actually worked.

He remembered watching Hermione shake the entire way the first time they'd gone, and he had wanted so badly to be able to grab her wrist, shake her attention onto him, and then tell her she could safely go home, that they'd be able to get it without her help. But he'd be kidding himself if he had said that, which was what had stopped him – Hermione was what kept them out of serious situations turned threatening and provided the knowledge they needed to dodge dangerous magical traps. That's what killed him, though; knowing he was the one to put her in such situations and hoping – only hoping because that's all he could do – that they'd all make it out alive. Solely on his behalf and the prophecy that needed to be filled.

Ron had been worse, however. His usual joking-nature was put on hold, for perhaps only that day, and a strange silence had taken over his best friend. Never had Harry seen him like that. It shook him to the core, coupled with Hermione's reactions as well as the startling reality of what, precisely, his friends were sacrificing to be with him. The redhead had given pointers, in a gruff sort of voice, whilst no apples of color from nervousness appeared on his cheeks. It had been a riveting experience, and one that had only gotten _normal_ – he hated thinking that them acting fearful, anxious, and out of character became routine – after they had searched for horcruxes more than a couple times.

"What are you thinking about?" Ginny's soft voice asked, drawing his thoughts toward her and away from his musings. Her hand was playing with the ends of his hair, feather light touches coming in contact with the skin of his cheek every few moments, which made him shiver from its simple intimacy. She was practically on top of him, really, but the touches of her hand were making him react more than their position was. _Interesting_.

His arms tightened around her, and he heard a soft mew of comfort escape her lips. Harry glanced down, smiling happily before resting the ball of his chin atop her shoulder, turning inward into her neck before pondering her question.

"A lot," he answered. "Everything." He breathed a sigh of stress against her neck, feeling goosebumps surface a moment later and her hands moving to grab the back of his neck in pleasure. "Thank you," he whispered, suddenly appreciating every single gesture of selflessness he'd gotten from those in his life. "Thank you so much."

"For what?" she inquired, moving hot breath closer to his ear and leaning in closer to his body – if that was even possible with how close they already were.

"For..._everything_. For being here when I need you. For always knowing how exactly to cheer me up, how to make me keep going day-to-day, and for dealing with my moods. It's..." he paused, trailing a hand along her waist and backing up to look her in the eye. "...extremely helpful and amazing to be able to rely on you for anything, and I honestly don't think I could ever... That is, I could never lose you, Ginny... I just can't. And I...I needed you to know that – how much I appreciate having you here with me. How much I need you."

Ginny's hand tightened almost painfully on his neck, her tears having started spilling halfway through his "thanks". She hugged him tightly then, even more so then before, and he couldn't help but realize that Ginny, along with everything he'd ever done or said to her, had been the only thing he'd gotten right in his life.

**ii.**  
_Day 4; 8:54 pm._

They'd begun discretely asking students, whether they were interested in the war or not, starting last year. They'd ask whether they supported Voldemort or Harry Potter, taking special measures to keep it entirely covert. Hermione had perfected a charm to make their possible new recruits believe it was only curiosity and absolutely nothing else, though Harry thought it was more for her assurance that no one suspected anything of her nosiness into others' business than making certain no one would find out about the DA. Typical Hermione, he'd thought, smiling.

Regardless, her elaborate methods proved worthwhile. When a person displayed a particular interest in Harry Potter, or showed feelings against Voldemort, they were privately invited to attend a meeting. No explanation of said meeting was given, also to ensure that they weren't privy to knowledge before signing Hermione's contract, but they'd been sure everyone they'd talked to would be curious enough to come and then, hopefully, interested enough to stay.

That's precisely how they'd acquired nearly two-hundred DA members this year.

"Thank you all for coming, once again. And remember, there's nothing more important than staying alert. Be ready for anything, at all times. We never know when war could break out and I'd rather have you all prepared to help the way you've learned..." Harry looked around nervously, hands in his pocket at how many eyes stared back at him. Though he thought he'd be used to it by now, it unnerved him even more than before. _Too many expectations now_. "Next week, then!"

Harry smiled however, taking in a deep breath because this had been a long time in coming.

They'd had to re-think the inside of the Room of Requirement to fit every person who had joined in the recent months. Though it had taken Hermione five days to figure out how to imagine that large a room, when they couldn't really estimate the expanse two-hundred people needed, it had definitely been worth the wait and time Hermione had been irritated without the answer.

"Thank you," he said over and over again as people left, wondering how so many could believe in him so purely. How they could possibly put so much faith in one person. "You did great today," he added once in a while, making eye contact with those who had been improving immensely over the last month.

"I feel like we're making a difference," he spoke, slowly and thoughtfully, when every person had left. This left him, Ron, and Hermione in the largest room any of them had ever seen, hearing their echoes almost eerily.

"We are," Hermione grinned, perusing the room and looking about as if all her accomplishments and awards were hanging on the walls – as if that was her salvation, her world after the end of the war when everything was safe and happy. He was jealous that she could always do that. "We are, Harry."

"And it feels bloody great doing it," Ron chimed in, standing closer to Hermione.

Hermione sighed, always annoyed by his swearing, but shared a laugh with him instead. Harry watched the interaction and chuckled as well; it was rare that they felt this connected, and he knew they'd be reveling in it for days to come with soft smiles and coy glances...and then, yet another one of their fights. He wished it would stop some day and finally turn into something else.

"Come on, let's go get food from the kitchens."

**iii.**  
_Day 10; 9:39 pm._

When he'd left the Gryffindor Common Room in search of silence, perhaps a little time with Ginny down at the lake, he never thought he would just happen upon something pivotal in the war against Voldemort. It wasn't as if he sought out important things, dangerous things, whenever he felt the lag was too long between the last one and the next one. Merlin, he'd enjoyed the small reprieve the beginning of school provided him, only having to worry about Ginny, the DA, and trying to get Ron and Hermione together. The horcruxes were gone, Malfoy was back at Hogwarts but silent as ever, and Snape was still aiding him in being a better fighter. So far, it was good and bearable, almost normal even.

But then..._this_.

He had wanted Ginny to come with him for a walk, possibly to the lake, mostly because he hadn't seen her all that much today. However, she'd been stuck up in the girls' dormitories, likely talking about boys and gossip like she said they mostly did. He had hoped, very belatedly indeed, if she ever talked about him with her friends.

That's when he had happened upon it.

The whispered, feverish voices had gotten louder as he had approached one end of the castle; near the dungeons but still far enough away that Harry didn't have to worry about his well-being every second or so. Regardless, this particular situation was odd, even in Hogwarts – silencing charms were often used, and never ignored by people wanting to keep a secret, like these whispered voices implied. So naturally, Harry did what any generally curious boy would do and bent his head forward to press his ear gently against the door, keeping eerily silent. Any conversation that was kept quiet with low voices usually signified importance, so he could not mess this up.

"This isn't right," one voice was saying, and Harry could hear the strain behind the words – had they been using regular octave levels, it would have been yelled instead. "What _is_ this, anyway? How can this even be- _How_. Is this. Possible?" With every word, a desk was hit, and he could only assume this person was increasingly pissed off from the harsh sound. "How can a bloody twelve-year-old kid think of a list...like this? And know every bloody name...every middle name even! And then know that these would be _actual people_ – people he would end up killing. _Hundreds_ of them. Maybe even thousands..." Then a rustle of papers.

Harry's eyebrows skyrocketed, though the rest of his body had remained still in shock. This was definitely proving to be interesting, and could possibly turn to something imperative in his future. It already sounded like something connected to Voldemort, and more than being just a constant worry on his mind, he felt that he was stuck to this spot simply because he was Harry Potter, hoping to find a way to destroy Voldemort wherever he went.

"He knew," another person replied quickly, clearly calmer than the first speaker. This voice, however, was strangely familiar, but Harry couldn't place who it was at all. "He just knew, okay?"

"_Again._ How. Is that. Possible? Nobody, not even a talented person with special magical capabilities, could do that. No one can simply look into the future, accurately guess every person they're going to murder, and then proceed to write their names down..._like a checklist_ because he knew he was going to become a murderer. _No one_. Not even fucking seers-"

"It's _magic_."

"But _what_ magic can do that? You and I both know there is no such thing, in any crevice of the dark magic books our fathers have! I don't even understand..." the male sighed strenuously before letting out a deep breath. "What the hell made it possible for him to know this information? Can it even be proven correct and-"

"Are you bloody thick? What magic overthrows all? It's _dark_ magic, you dolt. Anyone is capable of creating new spells, for example, but the stipulations of doing such things for even using it are what scare people off. Of course _he'd_ find a way, even at such a young age because, honestly, you would have to be born dark to become like him. Nevertheless, under certain circumstances – like his – it was within good reason. It would tell him where to start next when he wasn't sure, and you know how he despises being at a loss."

Silence.

And then: "Fine, then...if you know so much, explain how I'm on the list? I've stayed far the fuck away from him, as much as I can in my family, and I swear all ties were ceased over the summer. I made fucking sure of it. And it'd be really great – really, really fucking great since you know all – why I'm on-"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know-"

"-because you seem to bloody know all about _everything_-"

"-didn't tell you so you could _yell_ at me like this! I thought this would make you _appreciate_ friends instead of fucking demanding to know reasons you sure as hell know I don't know! For once, I wanted to _help_-"

"_Boys_!" a female intervened suddenly, shocking Harry from realizing there was a random person he hadn't heard a word from previously. It seemed, however, that this girl had no problem speaking at a normal volume. Harry eyed the end of the corridor warily, realizing that he'd forgotten to keep a lookout just in case someone had felt like coming down here for the silence he had originally sought. "The list is the list. Nothing is going to change that! _You_ didn't have to spring it on him... And _you_ didn't have to have a go at him once he'd told you! And for Merlin's sake...we're making too much noise," she said, sounding exasperated.

An exhale of breath was heard, a moment of silence, and then, "You should listen to her, B-"

"To hell with that! _Her_ name isn't on the list – she's not the one with her death sentence sitting in front of her, and her best friends acting as if it's nothing! And then _demanding_ her not to freak out!"

For a moment, Harry heard nothing, and he thought that perhaps they had finally remembered to cast a silencing charm, which meant his luck would be cut short. Or, even more possibly, they had hit a rut in the conversation or had just given up on their insanely worried and distraught friend. There was a rustle of clothing, however, and then what sounded like a sigh, followed by the female's voice he didn't recognize whatsoever.

"Please, Bl-"

"_Names_!" the other male interrupted. It was the first time Harry had an inkling that they knew not to use names – a precaution they were obviously taking for some strange reason. It would have been a lot easier had they just used a silencing charm, obviously not a good thing for him since he'd gained all this information, but knowing not to use names would give the impression they were _hoping_ people would overhear them but not come to know their identities.

But...

_No._

Could this be a set up, he thought. Could three students – or at least he thought there were still only three of them in there – really mean for others to listen in but not guess who they were? To take what they were saying, use it, research it, and then, hopefully, get it back to someone in charge to take action?

_No._

He abruptly recognized he wanted Ron and Hermione here, just so they could be his second ears and so Hermione could get to what really was going on. She had always been so good at doing that, and her abilities had never failed before. Walking back to get them was, unfortunately, out of the scenario altogether, since he couldn't miss any further important bits.

"Sorry...I almost forgot. But please..._Panther_, calm down so we can figure out what to do... What we can all do to make certain this _doesn't_ happen. You know...you know I love you. You know that. And you know he's worried about you too. So don't think we aren't here to help you, that we're here to make sure your death happens. Because that's far from what we mean by this."

Another bout of silence hit, and Harry tapped the doorjamb in impatience, paying no mind that the action could possibly give away his position. He just needed to know what was next, what else he could learn.

"Okay. So, then...what do we start with?"

"Well, for starters, we get fucking drunk. That'll help. And then we come up with the most heinous and obviously not-going-to-work plans, and then laugh about it until we all pass out. Tomorrow, we'll be serious and think of what we can actually do, and then we cry about...everything. But drink now, yes."

"I'd say that's a good idea," the first male said, sounding far more defeated than Harry ever thought, dare he assume, a Slytherin ever would.

"Me too."

Now, to find out who they were.

**iv.**  
_Day 11; 1:21 am._

Nearly hitting his head on the floor, after falling over in his sleep, Harry awoke suddenly to giggling and chuckling. _Damn_. He'd fallen asleep. They obviously hadn't ventured out of the room yet, or he'd likely be strung up in the furthest reaches of the dungeon with them interrogating him about anything and everything he may have heard – unless it was he who they had wanted to overhear them. _Hmm_...

Blinking slowly, he fixed his crooked glasses and quickly surmised that no one had walked by, or he'd have been awoken and probably taken to the Headmistress's office. _What luck he had tonight_. Lifting himself up off the ground, Harry wasn't certain if he should go directly back to the Gryffindor Tower or not. Hermione was either worrying her knitting needles as to where her best friend was when he clearly hadn't come in for the night, or she could have simply gone to bed long before she'd expected him back in. Ron, predictably, would be fast asleep regardless of where his friend was.

In the dark silence of Hogwarts, Harry's mind buzzed with endless possibilities this recent scenario could be foreshadowing, and returned to his dormitories, trying not to get caught.

**v.**  
_Day 11; 4:16 pm._

"It couldn't have been them, Harry." Hermione shook her head lightly, glancing away. "It was probably just another one of those dreams – you know, the ones that seem so realistic... The ones you believe really happened when they actually haven't."

"But I didn't dream it, Hermione... I know I couldn't have, because...I just couldn't have. You can't honestly believe I've made the whole thing up on a _dream_. I woulld have known."

"I'm not saying that exactly..." Hermione muttered and then trailed off, obviously unsure, before grabbing a book from the shelf and settling back at the table with him from where she had stood previously. She let out a heavy sigh, likely because she just couldn't fathom why he was arguing with her – even after all their years together and the fact she'd been correct nearly every time. Well, he was pretty certain this time that it had been the only three Slytherins he'd ever known more than most.

Though he had seriously hoped to fall right back asleep after he'd returned to his bed, he'd been plagued with concerns and, most of all, who had been talking about Voldemort so insightfully regarding something he'd never even known existed. Knowing, very tentatively at least, that the speakers had wanted someone to hear but had wanted their names hidden, logically pointed a big arrow directly to the Slytherins. They were possibly the only ones Harry could think about that would be so hesitant for their families to know they were attempting to feed information to an outsider.

They _were_ the only ones.

It made even further sense for it to have been Draco, Blaise, and Pansy specifically. With their close friendship and familiar voices, they fit the situation perfectly.

He hadn't wanted to assume prematurely and be entirely inaccurate when it really came down to knowing something important, like on the battlefield with Voldemort, only to be proved incorrect. So he took it up with Hermione. Who else would set him straight?

"I'm saying that... Well, it wasn't the three of them. I mean, it could have been Blaise or Pansy, but not exactly Draco. So no, the entire thing was not a dream, but thinking it was Draco too, I think, would be what you just assumed, or...thought of after you fell asleep in a dream-like...thought or something," she stammered through, still avoiding eye-contact.

"But how would you know?" Harry asked speculatively. She was clearly avoiding the reason behind knowing exactly why it couldn't be Malfoy, but there was a snag in that thought. "I know you were sleeping, because when I got back, you weren't throwing a lecture around because I'd been missing or something. Unless, of course, you decided to take the Marauder's Map to ease your worries and then fell back asleep... _Bollocks_," he suddenly swore, swiping an agitated hand through his mop of hair. "Why didn't I think of that when I got back? The Marauder's Map would have told me who was there!"

Hermione sighed in response, licking her lips before finally looking him in the eye. "I didn't steal your map, Harry. I really wish I had now that you seem distraught and it is certainly curious as to who was in that room, with a possible Blaise and Pansy," she added, hoping to get the point of across again. "But we can cross Draco off the list."

The silence thereafter was heavy, with Harry narrowing his eyes in her direction. Never had she kept information from him before, and never had she had any secrets he hadn't known about. Knowing that in itself made his heart hurt, because she was her own woman and it was up to her to keep things from him when and if she wanted to – but...could she be keeping something from him now? Something about Draco Malfoy, the rumoured Death Eater?

"Are you... Are you hiding something, 'Mione?" he asked as tentatively as he could. He didn't want to come off angered at her, didn't even want to pester her about her own decision, but he just needed to know.

"Oh, Harry," she sighed. "I didn't mean- That is, it's not like...anything you could call the worst. I didn't know whether I could tell you, or even Ron, at all. I thought...I thought you'd both have stopped talking to me altogether, that you'd look down on me and think I was...think I was_consorting_ with the enemy or some such rubbish." And at his exasperated look, though he felt more concerned in his mind at what she was getting at, she finally explained. "I've been...tutoring Malfoy. I know- I know that I shouldn't even be _talking_ to him, but McGonagall came to me personally and basically pleaded beyond _anything_ that I take this position. And I couldn't just..._deny_ her. Not the headmistress. I didn't know what to say, though, y'know – it was Malfoy, and I accepted." She put her head in her hands, defeat shrugging her shoulders downward. "I know it was a terrible thing to do to you, to Ron, but...a _teacher_ asked..."

"...well...I think that- I think that it's okay, Hermione-"

"-and it hasn't been that bad. We've already agreed to not talk about the Dark side, the Light side, or what you're doing, or what Ron is doing, or what Voldemort is doing. Although I would have for you, had you asked me to get information-"

"-but I trust you. I know you wouldn't have- I would never ask that of you, Hermione!"

"-and the reason it couldn't even be close to being him is because we...well, we were given our own study room to use in silence, away from other students who would be curious about him and I working together, and we were _there_. We both met there after I was with Ginny for an hour that night, and it's entirely impossible to even think it could be him."

Harry chuckled a little at her appearance and waited for her to calm down, regain her breath, and press down the frizz that started in her hair from being so completely frazzled at having to explain her story to him. She looked as if she suspected he would never talk to her again – all over her tutoring the Malfoy git. But he wasn't that bad of a friend or had that bad of a judgment on her decisions. Instead, he reveled in knowing that Malfoy needed a tutor out of it than anything.

And then he spoke to soothe the alarming look in her eye. "I understand, Hermione. I get that McGonagall asked you and that you would say yes. Had you said no, I would have been worried about why _you_ would say no to the headmistress."

Hermione smiled uncertainly at first, but then picked up the corners of her mouth and let out a relieved sigh at his approval. "I honestly felt so bad for the longest time. I...I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. And the way you reacted..."

"Don't worry, but I definitely can't say the same for Ron," he replied, however a little moved by the news. Not only had she been keeping this a secret, but she'd kept it in fear of his and Ron's reactions – which meant she was even more loyal to him than he could've imagined, though he had a fair idea already. "I just don't understand who it could have been, then. One voice was vaguely familiar, and I swear it was Malfoy and the other person's name started with a Bl. The last was a girl, and the only person I could think of was Parkinson..."

"I'm not sure, Harry," Hermione said weakly, reaching across to gently squeeze his shoulder. "As I said, it's rather impossible for one of them to be him."

There was a small pause in their conversation as he pondered the entire situation, and Harry looked back up at her a moment later. "Something always has to happen every year, doesn't it?"

"If it didn't, then it wouldn't be the usual Hogwarts experience," Hermione said cheekily, and they both smiled briefly.

She was right, though. It would never be Hogwarts without its chaos, and though he had actually hoped this year would go by without any further problems, the conversation he'd heard last night had been too important and insightful for him to ignore. It may even be, perhaps, an end to everything Voldemort. _Perhaps_.

Harry belatedly wondered if his name was on such a list, and then wondered if he'd ever be able to find out.

**vi.**  
_Day 17; 5:34 pm._

Harry hadn't been made Head Boy this year, which had been just fine with him because he definitely didn't think he would ever have enough presence of mind to worry about what rules students were breaking, or even to be a bloody role model with his past experiences. Hermione, however, had been proudly picked as Head Girl alongside a boy from Ravenclaw. He couldn't quite recall the name, but it seemed Hermione had no problem muttering under her breath every minute because of some inexcusably stupid thing he'd done.

"_Bloody_ hell," Ron whispered, bending his head to emphasize his quiet exclamation. "How can you just go _on and on_ about him?"

Hermione glanced up at him in annoyance, her quill stopping with her mumbling. "Because, Ronald, he's a git."

The redhead's eyebrows rose high, and Harry thought that they might just leave his forehead altogether. "So – when you and I have a row, do you go in a corner and talk to yourself about how stupid I'm being, like an absolutely maniac?"

Uh-oh. That was certainly the wrong thing to say, particularly to an already irate Hermione Granger. Her face hardened and her cheeks turned a bright red, because no matter how righteous she could be at times, she was also equally embarrassed. "I _don't_ have to be friends with him, Ron, so being irritated with him is probable. With you...well, believe it or not, I respect you, and just because you make some horrible decisions on what to say to people or to _me_ for that matter, I'll still be your friend. So _no_, I do not go into a corner and rant about how bloody stupid you can be!" She turned to Harry, more distraught than before, and started correcting Ron on his faults. "I'll be in the library, Harry, so you can find me there if you need me. As for you," she continued, turning back to Ron, "once you realize I'm not a maniac and I'm here to be your friend, come find me."

With that, she grabbed her books and proceeded out of the common room, two sets of eyes on her retreating form. "Good going, Ron," said Harry. "You're really great at pepping her up, that's for sure."

When he turned, Ron was holding his head in his hands and slowly banging his forehead upon the table. He couldn't help but let out a chuckle – and then another at just how ridiculous Ron looked right then.

"It's _not_ funny, Harry," Ron whined, his voice cracking from emotion.

Harry could only let out another long laugh.

**vii.**  
_Day 25; 11:55 pm._

"I love you," Harry whispered into her shoulder, teasing her fingers with his own as his other arm tightened around her waist. Ginny cuddled further into his heat until they were comfortably close together, body pressed to body just like he always yearned to be.

Harry could tell she was smiling from the dimple he spotted on the side of her cheek, and he followed from her shoulder to that dimple before settling his lips against her mouth in a soft kiss. "I'm worried about Ron," she gently spoke, pressing her palm into his neck to keep his face close to hers. "He's...not all there. He's too occupied thinking he should be worrying about Voldemort, but he lets Hermione into his thoughts too much for him to handle. He thinks he shouldn't, so he berates himself, and...it's just really hard on him. Not to mention Hermione, even... She's hiding something, Harry, and I'm sorry I didn't bring it up before, and I didn't really want you to have to think of that as well, but she's _never_ around anymore – and that's so unlike her it's ridiculous."

He nodded sadly, pressing his thumb into her cheek as he watched the first tear roll its way down. He hated that life came to this, that Ginny was often very miserable about their dangerous future, and that it was he who had ultimately started the emotions. It was worse for her because she was stuck on the sidelines, waiting for something to happen or just simply waiting. He knew this, didn't like that being associated with him made it ten times worse, but was slightly consoled because even if they weren't together, she'd still be connected by Ron.

Truth was he really didn't havethe drive to keep going without her, would be even worse if he had to watch Ron lose his wits and Hermione becoming friends with a Slytherin. Admittedly, he wasn't sure how close they were, but knowing Hermione and the way her unique and genuine personality touched people, they were probably on better terms than she and Ron were currently.

"They'll be fine," he whispered, finally, bending his head to rest against hers. "Everything with be fine." _Hopefully_.

**viii.**  
_Day 32; 7:18 pm._

Harry had ventured out of the common room to look for Hermione twenty minutes earlier, nearly certain she would be in the library, because well, when wasn't she? But she wasn't, though –_surprise, surprise_ – so he'd gone wandering along the corridors just in case he ran into her on her way to a different location or something. On the other hand, perhaps he'd find the study room she'd mentioned a couple weeks previous; the one she used with Malfoy. It wasn't really imperative that he find her this very second, but he felt like he'd fallen behind on researching Voldemort, and summarily everything he'd learned, since he'd found out about Voldemort's List. He and Hermione would both have to spend a day or two in the library to make up for it.

Harry hadn't known where she was, mostly due to another row Ron had not fixed between them. It seemed to have gotten out of control since he'd commented on her dislike for the Head Boy, who Harry finally found out was John Hoike. They were fighting more than they were talking, which Harry always hated to see, especially since he rarely saw either of them all that much whenever this happened-

"What do you mean you didn't study?"

"Exactly what I _said_, Granger. Must I repeat it for you?"

Harry's head snapped in the direction of the approaching voices – whether he was walking closer or they were coming toward him, he wasn't sure – thinking quickly that it had to have been Malfoy in that room, regardless of Hermione adamantly telling him it couldn't have been. He turned around automatically, walking leisurely in the opposite direction of where they seemed to be. Harry didn't want to violate Hermione's privacy but, as always, his curiosity overruled that, and he decided on a compromise for something in between – walking away from them, but slowly, so he could make certain that the voice had been the one in the room.

"But...you have an examination tomorrow, Malfoy."

"I don't bloody care that I have an exam tomorrow. We've been revising all fucking week. I'll do fine, okay?" Malfoy's voice was angry and solid, a lot less whiny than what he even remembered from third-year. He realized, suddenly, that Malfoy was the not the person he remembered – the coward, the one crying in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. This one remained silent, this one didn't go out of his way to insult people, and this one spoke unnaturally angrily and then softly, as if he cared, to his best friend...

It seemed this Malfoy had a backbone, which made Harry a little hesitant because Draco Malfoy with a backbone was not someone he'd ever want to deal with. Then he wondered how Hermione had ever been able to deal with the git so long and not crack, ranting about his terrible behavior or something.

Harry could virtually see the gaze Hermione was giving him at the moment, but only silence met his hears when he expected to hear Hermione's indignant reply, and he guessed he was already out of earshot. He was uncertain, still, of what to think of Hermione's tutorship with Malfoy – though he understood why she'd felt compelled to take it and then decide not to tell him or Ron. It was strange,was all. Never had he thought they'd be civil, at the very least, let alone on frequent speaking terms.

_War changes people_. He loathed thinking it, knowing so many other people had already gone through that change, or worse ended up like Sirius, but it was just a part of it and nothing he could do would change that now. A reality he obviously didn't like, but worse than thinking about it would wallowing for such a reason. He would never be caught doing that.

Following the corridors, he finally made it up to the Gryffindor common room. "Fancy some Quidditch?" he asked Ron upon spotting him, to which he agreed with a grin and got up off the sofa. Quidditch was always something he could turn to when particularly pensive or stressed, when that didn't include Ginny accompanying him to the lake, and something it seemed he played it nearly as often as he ate.

He made eye contact with his redhead on his way out, smiling slowly so she knew he was all right for the moment – they could always talk later. She got the message immediately, nodded her assent, and went back to talking to Lavender Brown. That's mostly why he loved Ginny as much as he did – she was the most understanding person in his life, and that was, basically, what he needed throughout the situation he was going through. It was all he could hope for, and he was definitely grateful of such a privilege.

"So when are you going to fix things with Hermione, Ron?" he asked on the way out, a smile upon his face because he knew that Ron _hated_ when he brought up their relationship. It was all because he also knew Ron fancied her, and that he was always around when Ron royally fucked it up.

He just wondered when they would finally get together. They deserved at least that much.

* * *

**So? **Was that a good start? Better than the last one? Tell me if you guys liked it or not! :)


	2. Two of Four

**Title:** The Letter  
**Word Count:** 9,700+ (total: 16,900+)  
**Status:** WIP  
**Rating:** M  
**Pairing:** Draco/Hermione, and I guess a little bit of Harry/Ginny in the first chapter!  
**Summary:** Harry happens upon whispered voices one night, Hermione is secretly tutoring Malfoy, and Draco receives an important letter from his mother - with what as the result?  
**Disclaimer:** I honestly have never owned anything as handsome as Draco Malfoy, or anyone as smart as Hermione Granger – those are all JKR's. Not mine at all.  
**Beta:** MICHELLE, seriously, is the best :). And I'm so glad she had time to look at this with her classes and whatnot.  
**Banner:** made by **Elysium** from _TDA_!  
**Notes:** For those who have read this before, and are returning because, WHAT. A SECOND CHAPTER? _AND_ if you're interested in reading it again, I'd suggest you go back to the first chapter because I've added a good 2k onto it, and 4k onto this one. Oh yeah, it's revised now :). And then beta-ed again. So...hope this is better, and tell me what you think!

**The Letter: Two of Four**

**ix.**  
_Day 6; 9:30 pm._

Draco was already there when she entered, head bent slightly over the book he was concentrated on. She preferred it when he was like this, silent and ready to learn, but Hermione knew it was cause for a very quiet night. It wasn't that she hated them, of course – because no words from Draco were better than anything, right? – but sometimes Draco could be entertaining with his opinion and, Merlin forbid she say this aloud, interesting conversation when he was in a particular mood to socialize. They weren't friends by far, but sometimes they delved further into each other's character. Having spent more time with him in the past month, Hermione could say for certain that one thing nobody could accuse Draco Malfoy of was being boring. Combined with her own never-ending curiosity, there was no denying she would take advantage of the opportunity to get to the bottom of his strange and mysterious personality.

They'd created a somewhat tentative relationship early on, so as not to make this worse off for the both of them than it needed to be. She'd been surprised to find that, afterward, they were actually respectful to each other most of the time. This had been reasonably shocking in itself, but she was glad she didn't have to deal with the Draco she'd known all her life – the whiny, self-absorbed brat she'd met and hated since her first-year. She'd come to realize, after only a few sessions with him, that he was clearly different and that had solidified her decision to continue their tutorship. She had rationalized with herself that, if they failed to get along and more bad arguments occurred, she'd return to McGonagall and tell her that she simply could not work with someone so ridiculous.

However, he'd honestly shocked her past any assumptions she'd ever had on the situation. Not only did they not argue as much as she had presumed they would, but he engaged her in conversation far more often than the first six years she'd ever seen him speak. Wholly, the entire situation was a lot better than she ever could have asked for.

However, it definitely did not mean they had any type of relationship, not even civility, when they weren't in this precise room.

Really.

She settled in the chair across from him, not daring to break the silence he'd created. He'd have said something insulting by now – with a hint of a joking nature – or just muttered _Granger_ as acknowledgment of her presence had he wanted to speak with her further. This was fine, of course, just as long as he was reading his Care of Magical Crea- Ah, yes, he was. Glancing back to her own bag, she pulled two books, a roll of parchment, and a quill with ink from the depths. She may as well utilize this time to work on her essay for Potions – damn Snape and his tedious assignments just to anger the students. They were obviously in a course of hands-on work with potions, and it just didn't make sense to her that he'd assign essays-

"...protect your friend Longbottom, Granger," Draco suddenly spoke, not low enough to be a whisper but not loud enough for a person out of the room to hear. She glanced upward, brown eyes connecting with grey, and she had to inhale a breath at the sincerity resonating in his gaze. "He's in danger. A lot of danger."

She expelled a long, stress-filled sigh, confused at his proclamation, and furrowed her brow. Not only was Draco Malfoy warning her about something that someone – obviously Voldemort or one of his loyal followers – was likely going to do, but he was warning her about someone she knew he didn't care about in the slightest. Which was _questionable_, coming from him, regardless of her changed opinion of him.

They had agreed never to talk about this. Never bring up other sides, because it would only end in doubts and anarchy between the two of them. They had agreed to this for the sole purpose of bettering his academic skills, and that would ultimately alter the reason behind their meetings.

But...since he _was_ talking about it...

He had to be absolutely serious, worried about it perhaps, and that scared her. Things were obviously happening, and soon according to the expression on Draco's face. Which meant...

"But...but...Neville is here at school, with everyone. How is it possible that only _he_ is in danger?" Her voice was laced with a little more worry than she wanted to allow, but there wasn't much she could do to help that. What he'd said just opened so many more doors to the dangerous future they'd all been sick to their stomachs worrying about. She wasn't ready for this, but she supposed she wasn't ever going to be if she had to sit there and dwell on her worries. "Are they...are they going to try to breach the shields, the castle walls- _Merlin_, do they know how to get in...again?"

"I don't know, Granger...I really don't. I can't explain. You of all people should know that I can't just...tell you why. Or how I know. Or _why_ I know. All you need to understand is that you have to protect him."

Hermione yearned to simply nod, wanted to say _okay_, take it as is, and proceed with her studying – but her chest had tightened painfully, a thud was heard against her ribcage, too fast for her normal heartbeat, and she couldn't stop looking at him strangely. Neville was in school! He couldn't be in danger; it just wasn't likely. He'd have to leave on an occasion that meant he left school grounds altogether, which he'd never do unless it was Hogsmeade, and those had been canceled. Perhaps they did know how to get in, but the question arose why Neville was the only one who needed to watch his back, and why no one else was in that category with him.

"Is-" she, paused, breathing out slowly and looking to gain her bearings before demanding an answer she knew she wouldn't leave without knowing. "Malfoy, are they going to fight their way in here?"

"I don't know," he muttered, shaking his head marginally. "I wouldn't know." Draco ran his hands over his face, threading them through his hair a moment later while an uncomfortable expression took over his facial features. "His name was- Just protect him, all right? That's all I can say." Draco was already looking back at his book when he finished, and Hermione had the growing feeling of apprehension that this was, perhaps, a definite start to something – that maybe the war was about to begin sooner than even her or Harry had assumed. "And if they knew how to get into the school, rest assured I wouldn't be sitting here right now if that were true," he added gently, an afterthought.

Hermione let out a relieved breath, her shoulders deflating with the movement – _Thank Merlin_. Though his assurance didn't mean it was all going to be okay, that everything was safe, it at least meant that nothing was going to happen right this minute. And no matter how much she was going to be talking to Harry about this, how much she was going to make sure the DA was ready, or how much she was going to be researching everything on Voldemort tenfold, she at least knew she had a little bit of time. All because of Draco...and his rare compassion for somebody else other than himself.

"Thank you," she said, quietly, watching curiously as he raised his head and connected their eyes once again. She sometimes hated when he did that – he had a knack to make a special connection through his eyes, to which the receiver felt more than a little uncomfortable, while unnaturally alive. Hermione hadn't quite gotten used to it yet, and she blamed wanting to have him look in her eyes more often so that she could get used to it and not have to feel the way she did.

Draco looked surprised for only a moment, but then he nodded his response before going back to his book in silence.

**x**  
_Day 11; 4:16 pm._

"It had to be them, Hermione. Malfoy, Parkinson, and Zabini. When I woke up, it was just so obvious that it had to be them-"

"It couldn't have been them, Harry," Hermione told him firmly, willing down the anxious butterflies, which erupted in her stomach whenever anyone ever came close to talking about Draco Malfoy. "It was probably just another one of those dreams – you know, the ones that seem so realistic... The ones you believe really happened when they actually haven't."

"But I didn't dream it, Hermione... I know I couldn't have, because...I just couldn't have. You can't be saying that I dreamed the tiredness I felt the next day, the back pain from falling asleep against the corridor wall, anything I heard..."

"I'm not saying that exactly..." she muttered, finally grabbing the book with an annoyed swipe; she'd been searching for this exact book for more than ten minutes, and having Harry start to pester her about Draco was the last thing she'd wanted to hear. She settled back in her seat anyway. Hermione let out an irritated breath, hating that he wouldn't just listen to what she had to say and understand that it couldn't have been Draco without an explanation from her – the last thing she wanted to do was make light of her situation with the Slytherin. Harry would hate her forever.

"I'm saying that... Well, it wasn't the three of them. I mean, it could have been Blaise or Pansy, but not exactly Draco. So no, the entire thing was not a dream, but thinking it was Draco too, I think, would be what you just assumed or thought of after you fell asleep in a dream-like...thought or something," she stammered, shaking from having to dodge around the truth. She _hated_ keeping secrets, but this was the only way to keep Harry and Ron from ultimately being mad at her.

"But how would you know? I know you were sleeping, because when I got back, you weren't throwing a lecture around because I'd been missing or something. Unless, of course, you decided to take the Marauder's Map to ease your worries and then fall back asleep... _Bollocks_," he suddenly swore, swiping an agitated hand through his mop of hair. "Why didn't I think of that when I got back? The Marauder's Map would have told me who was there!"

Hermione sighed, wanting to roll her eyes from his momentary stupidity and because he was just so _Harry_ sometimes, the one that didn't have the best ideas and forgot the simplest things, as opposed to the serious Harry he'd morphed into with the growing seriousness of war. "I didn't steal your map, Harry. I really wish I had now that you seem distraught and it is certainly curious as to who was in that room. With a possible Blaise and Pansy," she added, hoping to get the point across again. "But we can cross Draco off the list." Then she settled her eyes on her book – Hermione didn't want to come clean, and making eye contact would undeniably show her growing guilt from the situation.

It wasn't as if her and Draco were doing something that normal people would frown upon – far from it, actually – but it was an unspoken pact that none of them have any communication with any Slytherins outside of classes, and certainly not with Draco Malfoy. Hermione also didn't want him to come to incorrect conclusions right away, like she knew he would. He was known for his temper, though admittedly she could say it wasn't as bad as Ron's, and she was still a little hesitant to find out what his reaction would be.

If she even told him at all.

However, by his narrowed eyes she knew her avoidance of the subject had only gained more attention from the Boy-Who-Lived. He was doubting her now. She felt the silence around them, electrified, and she bit her lip in indecision at what to do now.

"Are you... Are you hiding something, 'Mione?" He spoke softly, obviously careful not to upset her or make her irrational by the accusation – but Hermione knew it was justifiable on his part.

"Oh, Harry," she sighed. "I didn't mean- That is, it's not like...anything you could call the worst. I didn't know whether I could tell you, or even Ron, at all. I thought...I thought you'd both have stopped talking to me altogether, that you'd look down on me and think I was...think I was_consorting_ with the enemy or some such rubbish." Harry looked marginally exasperated, worried, and impatient. Therefore, she did her best to explain. "I've been...tutoring Malfoy. I know- I know that I shouldn't even be _talking_ to him, but McGonagall came to me personally and basically pleaded beyond _anything_ that I take this position. And I couldn't just..._deny_ her. Not the headmistress. I didn't know what to say, though, y'know – it was Malfoy, and I accepted." She put her head in her hands, defeat shrugging her shoulders downward. "I know it was a terrible thing to do to you, to Ron, but...a _teacher_ asked..."

"...well...I think that- I think that it's okay, Hermione-"

"-and it hasn't been that bad. We've already agreed to not talk about the Dark side, the Light side, or what you're doing, or what Ron is doing, or what Voldemort is doing. Although I would have for you, had you asked me to get information-"

"-but I trust you. I know you wouldn't have- I would never ask that of you, Hermione!"

"-and the reason it couldn't even be close to being him is because we...well, we were given our own study room to use in silence, away from other students who would be curious about him and I working together, and we were _there_. We both met there after I was with Ginny for an hour that night, and it's entirely impossible to even think it could be him."

Hermione could hear Harry chuckle softly, and she looked up at him in alarm, her breath coming in pants. She took in a couple gulps of air, waited a moment for her heart to calm down, and slowly patted a part of her hair down – she had been more insecure about her story than ever and it had taken a toll on her appearance.

When she seemed collected enough, she was about to ask Harry what, exactly, he had found so funny, but he beat her to it. "I understand, Hermione. I get that McGonagall asked you and that you would say yes. I know how much academics matter to you."

Hermione nodded, smiling, because he was correct and even she had berated herself for ages because she'd said yes – there would have been no way she'd deny helping him. Then she let out a long-awaited relieved sigh. "I honestly felt so bad for the longest time. I...I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. And the way you reacted, like I didn't think you would..."

"Don't worry, but I definitely can't say the same for Ron. I just don't understand who it could have been, then. One voice was vaguely familiar, and I swear it was Malfoy, and the other person's name started with a Bl. The last was a girl, and the only person I could think of was Parkinson..."

"I'm not sure, Harry," Hermione said weakly, reaching across to gently squeeze his shoulder. There was, quite literally, no way it could have been Draco, and she was at just as much a loss as Harry was. "As I said, it's rather impossible for one of them to be him."

Harry looked away, deep in thought it seemed, and she had to wonder to herself who it could have been in that room. It was interesting that Harry, as he always did, had found himself in another situation where important information was being offered up. She always wondered if there were loads of other stuff going on in the castle that various kids always ended up running into all the time or if it was just Harry, because it sure appeared so.

Either way, this bout of news was clearly going to be crucial for the future, and she knew she'd have to think about this for some time to figure out how much of what he'd heard was credible. They couldn't base any of their actions with Voldemort off of possibly pseudo information Harry had only heard through a door.

Harry looked back up to her a moment later, eyes sparkling. "Something always has to happen every year, doesn't it?" he asked playfully.

"If it didn't, then it wouldn't be the usual Hogwarts experience," Hermione said cheekily, and they both smiled briefly.

She wondered if this was an opportune time to bring up that Neville was in danger here at Hogwarts, but figured it wasn't the best time with what had already taken hold of his mind. She vowed, however, to tell him as soon as she found an opening to do so.

**xi.**  
_Day 15; 8:41 am._

From the start of everything, she and Malfoy had chosen to keep their tutorship entirely a secret. Not because either was ashamed of the arrangement, though she was sure that was part of the reason for him, but because it was pertinent that certain people – Voldemort, Lucius, Harry, Ron – never read more into the situation than necessary.

So, when she'd unceremoniously – stupidly and clumsily – bumped into him, directly in the middle of a busy corridor, she wondered how this would turn out; surely this would question what he really thought of her and how he'd act with people watching. Or, perhaps, she wondered if he would have to quell the urge to be polite and hold her up, help her, even. But that was just her hoping, she berated herself. Especially since he couldn't just help her up and say a simple _get out of my way_ if he didn't want to hurt her feelings. No, he would have to act like Draco Malfoy, and if he was ever given another confrontation with Hermione Granger, because oddly enough he hadn't done so at all this year, he'd have to really give everyone a show.

She didn't miss the way his eyes had widened, or how his hand had shot out and harnessed her body close to his, making it impossible for her to fall at all. Fortunately, it landed in a place no one could visibly see, lost in the bunches of her cloak fabric. With his hand settled against her hip, spreading further along her back as moments passed, she supposed it was larger than she'd imagined – if she'd ever even imagined it before. Though she'd seen that hand several times during the past few months, it was still strange to know he was willingly _touching_ her with it.

Through the movement of her ineptness, she was, by default, looking up into his eyes – both his height and gaze overwhelming her. She'd never been this close to him before, and she presumed that the way he held her caused her to fall a little more into him than necessary – whether it was intentional or just the laws of physics was beyond her. She swore she could even hear him breathing, though she wasn't quite sure, as it could be any person moving around them–- _Moving_. Why weren't they moving away from each other?

She knew, clear as ever in that minute, that his eyes were what stilled her. They were utterly different than she had expected them to be. A startling light grey, with an assortment of blue specks running along his irises. Absolute perfection, maybe. Hermione wasn't certain what they looked like every other occasion she saw him, but now that she was forced to witness such depths of mysteries, she couldn't _not_ ever look into them again.

It felt like time was pausing, holding in that one moment for the minutes that she got to stare at him – long enough that she recognized where his hand was, traced his eyes with her own, and just a little extra to revel in the strange occurrence and how much she didn't hate it at all. Hermione wasn't sure she liked that he had his hand on her, really, but she knew she didn't despise it either – especially since she hadn't taken the chance to pull back during the encounter.

Then, suddenly, just as she was about to move a little closer perhaps, everything was back. Sound invaded her ears, the blurs of people around her evened out, and – surprisingly – she didn't feel relieved at all.

"Stay out of my way, Mudblood," he said harshly, the fact that only the few around them were able to hear unexpected. It wasn't definite that he was saying this to keep up appearances, or if he was genuinely insulting her. The look in his eyes suggested such a thing, but after all the time they'd spent together – sometimes being more than civil – she at least thought he'd act a little differently. Perhaps not say anything at all, because she couldn't deny the little – maybe bigger than that – pang of hurt that erupted abruptly within her.

Flexing his hand out, she stumbled back a couple of steps when he passed her. Hermione shook her head, clearing her thoughts, because what the hell had just happened? Why hadn't she just huffed and walked away like she normally would have, before everything?

Breathing in a harsh, stress-filled breath, she straightened out the fabric he'd scrunched together with his hand and hesitantly looked around, hoping that no one had noticed her reaction to how close they had been. Moreover, the fact she hadn't even said anything to him, not even an insult.

_Drat_ Stupid Draco Malfoy.

**xii.**  
_Day 21; 7:14 am._

A distant scream echoed in the furthest part of her sleep-addled mind, overtaking her brain and telling her to – quickly – find out what it was. Opening her eyes slowly and yawning widely, she turned over and stared in confusion at the scene unfolding in front of her. Lavender was in the middle of it all, sitting strangely between their three other roommates. Squinting her eyes, Hermione tried to distinguish what was wrong in the scene–- Ah, and there it was. Her hair was purple. Bright. Purple.

Her giggle came before she could stop it, and in the next moment all eyes were on her. Covering her mouth, she gasped out a small, "Sorry." Plopping back into her spot, she tried to cover herself with the blankets, but she knew it would be futile – Lavender would know she'd laughed at her, and she would undeniably have to rectify that later.

But at least she had laughed, no matter that it had been at someone else's expense. She had needed that in the darkness of her life that had started to consume her.

**xiii.**  
_Day 32; 7:18 pm._

"What do you mean you didn't study?" Her voice was a lot shriller than she'd meant for it to be, but he'd surprised her by the admission. He knew her thoughts on such academic things.

"Exactly what I _said_, Granger. Must I repeat it for you?"

"But...you have an examination tomorrow, Malfoy."

"I don't bloody care that I have an exam tomorrow. We've been revising all fucking week."

Stepping into the library behind him, Hermione wasn't sure how he could even think like this, after all the times she'd adamantly refused to let him go without studying before any type of examination in any class. He'd listened for the better part of every argument and had used her advice...until now, when he was obviously mocking her for it.

"I'll do fine, okay?" he spoke softly, turning his head over his shoulder as they made their way to the back of the library, where their room resided.

He pressed the door to the wall and made sure she made it through before it started closing, walking ahead of her. "But it doesn't mean you can't continue looking at what you've taken notes on-"

"Is that all you think about?" he muttered, but she paid no heed to his comment because she sure as hell didn't want to rise to the common bait. "Merlin, Granger, I'm astounded you even_have_ friends."

"At least I'm not the one being shunned by half my house."

_Oops_.

Once it was out, she automatically regretted it. Shock marred his features – which was rare all on its own – and for once, she felt like she had actually upped Draco Malfoy with an insult. And for once, her breakthrough of finally thinking of an insult at his speed caused endless amounts of guilt to foil and curl in her stomach, uncomfortably weighing her down as she stared at him, stunned at her own gall. It felt, suddenly, like all their progress boiled down to her - _this_ - opinion of him. Like his propriety would end just because of her honesty of her real thoughts.

Oh, how she just wanted to take it back.

They had fallen into a pattern of civility, a rather hard-established common ground when they met daily to go over schoolwork. It had, way back in the beginning, turned from her hounding him about his work habits and what he needed help with into a "study hour" instead. She'd noticed that he didn't get so annoyed with her, his conniving insults weaned dramatically, and his progress in school, he'd say, was getting better. Since then, conversation had struck them several times and she'd learned more about him than she ever assumed she would have – things that made him look not so bad in her mind. Redeemable, in fact. And very interesting.

It was only recently that she'd begun to look forward to their meetings, anticipate what things he'd say to her and how, maybe, he was beginning to look at her like a friend, too. She just couldn't get him to open up. At all.

But then he glanced away, mask back in place from his shocked expression, and she suddenly wanted to stutter out an apology, though her mouth remained closed and hesitant simply because she didn't want to blurt out something just as stupid as she had before. He looked deadly, however, when he turned his head over his shoulder, looking at her again, this time on his path to sitting on the sofa. His jaw clenched painfully, she saw, and even though Hermione felt awful, she didn't back down in regret and shame from his penetrating gaze.

"Then at least I don't only have two idiotic friends, while everyone else secretly hates me for my bookish qualities."

Her guilt abruptly morphed into anger, because his interpretation of her hit ridiculously close to home. It was often – too often, she believed – that she thought about her life and why, precisely, most people weren't as friendly with her as they were with everybody else in her year. Apologies forgotten, she replied, "Oh, that's rich! _I'm_ not the one that goes around insulting everyone all day! And it isn't as if no one secretly hates _you_, either...nearly the entire population of our school despises you too-"

"You just can't _shut up_, can you?" he interrupted, throwing a hand up in the air out of anger, it seemed. "You always have to be the one to say the last word, to try and reflect it back onto _me_, though half the time you know what I'm saying to you is true. And even then, it's just holier-than-thou bullshit because you can never stop thinking about the things people are doing wrong – how their actions are against...regulations, or rules, or _laws_, even. It's possibly the most irritating thing in the-"

"I do it because I have _morals_, unlike you obviously!"

"Everyone has fucking morals, Granger," he growled, looking the part of a very irate parent dealing with an abominable child. Well! It wasn't as if he was doing any better by egging her on! "But if they're even slightly off from yours, then that particular person is wrong. _Just_ for having their own personal opinion on something. And people can think for themselves, you know! They don't need you sitting beside them, telling them exactly how to execute something in specific order or some such rubbish. Just because you have to deal with Potter and the Weasel doing that-"

"They're my _friends_, Malfoy, and you'd do well to shut the-" Because it was the only thing she could think of then, beyond shaken from the reality that most of what he was saying was true._Startlingly_ true. But he cut her off anyway.

"I can say whatever the hell I want, when I want!" he yelled, standing up from his position on the couch. "_Exactly_...what I was saying. That just happened, Granger. Who the fuck cares that my opinion of Harry bloody Potter is anything but noble...that if I could, I'd banish him from my life just because he always seems to cause havoc for me? Every fucking year? Or how about the fact you hate _me_ because you think I'm just a replica of my father? Well. You don't get to think that, you don't get to have that opinion, and I'm going to yell in your face about it for an hour because I think otherwise. How does that feel, Granger? Hmm?"

Hermione was numb. Entirely. Numb. She quickly blinked back tears, breathing in a ragged breath, and tried to bring a semblance of a posture from the stumped and defeated stance she had just been in by standing up straighter. She tried. And then failed horribly at acting as if nothing he was saying killed her, maimed her, insulted her beyond anything anybody else had. She wiped away a stray tear.

He was right.

Malfoy – _Draco Malfoy_ – was correct. About her. About it all. In all general moments of her life, that's what she did. Always.

And it _hurt_. Much more than she thought it would. Because no one had ever shouted it in her face before, been so passionate and so goddamned sure of themselves that they were getting everything they said spot on. Not even a doubt in their mind that they could possibly be misjudging her.

It hurt much more when she remembered that she'd wanted to be his friend. That she thought he'd changed for the better – that he'd grown a backbone and defied his father, perhaps, or just stopped believing in all that codswallop Voldemort and his family were feeding him. It had resembled such a thought of hers with how he'd been acting towards her since the beginning of all this.

But oh how wrong she was.

And still, how right _he_ was.

Stepping closer, he continued. "And I have to deal with that _every. Day_. I have to deal with it at home, with my family, with my fucking Godfather, and then I have to deal with it with _you_. Neither side likes me very much, you know, and I'm sick and tired of it. All of it. I hate that everybody is trying to tell me what to believe, what not to believe, and how much Muggles are ridiculously unworthy of _everything_. I'm tired of you putting words in my mouth about my loyalty to my father, how I clearly hate everybody around me, when you couldn't be fucking further from the truth."

What.

A thousand times over. _What_?

He was...he was opening up to her, wasn't he?

She could still feel the hurt in her heart – the feeling of something stuck in the back of her throat whenever she swallowed – and it took several breaths to calm herself down enough so she wouldn't cry in front of him. Every few moments or so, she'd have to remember not to cry.

But it dimmed, ever so slightly, as he went on in his tirade. It seemed it wasn't so much her that he was pissed off at, as it had appeared in the beginning, but how unimaginably mad he was at the world itself. Of course, her involvement by simply being there tore at him some, annoyed him enough to get him like _this_, but she could understand.

As much as his words had ripped her open, put her on display, and then further humiliated her by the honesty in his perception of one Hermione Granger, she could grasp the reasons that had dragged him down to this point. Because she was the caring one – the one that always put herself in others' shoes before her own, that sympathized and helped those in need, and the one that could rationally and logically think of others, without – sometimes – letting her feelings get in the way.

This was one of those times.

"And the worst of it is that," he carried on, stopping directly in front of her, "you always seem to be fucking judging me. Sitting there, looking at me, and coming to these crazy and evidently incorrect assumptions about me. I can't..." he trailed off, glancing away for the first time in his diatribe.

The first sign of insecurity.

"It's okay," she whispered, softly, unwilling to break the silence she had kept all throughout..._this_.

"No!" he growled, turning back to her with flashing eyes. "It's _not_. If there was anybody – any possible person in the fucking universe – that could understand...understand what I'm going through, what's going on with everything, it would be you. Of course it would be you, right? And I come here, every day, to sit with you and study because I'm forced to, and all you do is judge. You stare and you contemplate, and then you presume that I'm the worst bloody Slytherin to ever walk these halls, and that I don't even deserve to be-"

"No!" she cried, indignant. "I- I wanted- _Merlin_, Malfoy. That's not how I've been thinking of you at all!" Shaking her head, she nearly laughed at how inaccurate on this particular thing he had been.

"But it shouldn't matter to me!" He dragged a rough hand through his pale locks, furrowing his brow at the, she assumed, strange direction this argument had gone. "I shouldn't care what you think of me! Ninety percent of the time I want to be anywhere but here with you, and the other...the other ten percent wishes that you'd give me a break. Be the notorious Hermione Granger that takes pity on lost causes."

His lips shut tightly then, and he shook his head in what was likely disbelief at himself. She wanted to reach out, squeeze his shoulder in reassurance, and then help him by telling him that that's exactly what she had been starting to do, had been trying to do all along – but had thought he'd want nothing to do with her. At all. However, he'd just confessed his soul, and she assumed the last thing he'd want at this moment was her motherly method of making him feel better about everything.

"I wouldn't have taken pity on you."

Draco breathed out then, harsh in the silence, looking away but still standing his ground. "I wouldn't have let you."

"And I haven't been thinking that you're exactly like your father."

A moment of silence, and then: "I shouldn't care, Granger," he whispered, his fingers twitching at his sides. "I shouldn't..."

"It's okay, honestly. It's...normal, Draco."

"It's not for me," he replied, slowly moving his head to look at her. They weren't separated by much space, and she was reminded of when she'd literally ran into him in the hallway, for the first time getting to witness his eyes up close. They were shinier, this time, glazed over with emotion that she'd never seen in his eyes before. A semblance of _respect_. This, in her eyes and coming from him, equaled friendship.

Draco Malfoy wanted Hermione Granger as his friend.

But he clearly didn't like the sight of what was in her eyes.

He shook his head, jerking out of the gaze, and roughly walked past her to grab his cloak. "Go back to thinking I haven't changed. It will do us both a world of good." And then promptly walked out of their session.

Hermione, however, couldn't quite comprehend why it would have been such a bad thing had they become friends. It wasn't as if it would have such a large impact on the war that their relationship or _not_-relationship would affect the outcome. They had already been spending enough time together, so what's the difference of them both enjoying it?

And she'd only been a few more moments away from him opening up.

Well, she'd just have to try harder. If his vehemency against having her as a friend showed Hermione anything, it was that it made her feelings toward him more justifiable. He needed someone. To be there, at the very least, when he wanted to talk about everything and nothing at all, with no judgment. Even before she'd known his opinion, she'd willingly offer herself up for the job, and now that she _did_ know...

There was no stopping her attempts this time.

**xiv.**  
_Day 37; 7:55 pm._

Hermione had gotten used to Draco avoiding things when he didn't want to talk about them. She'd become senseless to when he'd change the subject, no longer irritated that there were many a thing that were considered off limits to their conversations and such.

This, however, was an altogether different exception.

He'd begun by looking at her with renewed hatred, insisting on spending their time together in heavy and slightly awkward silences with his own silence setting the rules, and finally, he'd started to snap his replies back in a tense tone if ever she decided to breach conversation. Never had it been like this before The Incident, not even in the beginning. The _Incident_, Hermione remembered clearly, that he'd lost his control and finally showed her what he'd wanted from her – a very much unwanted scenario for him she knew now.

They'd spent five days like this. She'd grown more and more angry as the sessions passed, ready to finally yell in his face that yes, she too had an opinion on the matter, and damn-it, she wanted his civility back if she wasn't going to get his friendship – of which, she wanted to then scream at the top of her lungs, they both desired.

So. With a plan set in motion, she'd walked into their room, expecting a silent and brooding Draco Malfoy already set with his books around him. Silence, of course, met her ears, but no sign of another human being had greeted her vision the moment she'd walked in. A sigh later, she'd situated herself at the table, and fervently hoped in the time after that he hadn't given up on coming to their meetings, simply because he couldn't handle being in her presence anymore.

Twenty minutes later had her tapping her foot against the armrest of the couch, where she had moved to lay down five minutes ago – she'd glanced too many times at the door in her line of view from the chair for her to comfortably sit until he'd – possibly – arrive. And if he didn't... There was nowhere in this castle she didn't have access to, as Head Girl, and she'd find him one way or another.

Before she could create _that_ plan, however, he finally walked through their door.

Once again, it was as if nothing he'd said had ever happened, though this time anger was not a prominent feeling. Like it was her fantasy, and he was trying to do a damn good job of convincing both her and himself that he could have never said such emotional things. Granted, he was doing an exceptional job – it was getting her annoyed, wasn't it?

He settled into the couch beside her, bringing a few books to rest on his lap and a few on the table between them. Then, as if this was how they normally acted around each other before The Incident, he began to read his Care of Magical Creatures textbook, periodically jotting down a few thoughts in his notebook. _Silent_.

It took more convincing than she ever thought one could do in their mind for Hermione to constantly look away from him and to her own work – hard enough as it was, her peripheral vision was not out of luck, however, as she kept tabs on his movements. Not only did he appear completely content with their current situation, but he seemed more _productive_ than before. She hardly believed he reveled in her extreme and apparent awkwardness of the situation, and thought, again, perhaps this was just him trying to pretend what he said hadn't irked him at all; that he didn't feel uncomfortable at having her know what he really thought.

A strange and confusing boy, Hermione thought absently. One that was in serious need of companionship.

And honestly, that's all she wanted to give him. It was so obvious he was hurting, crumbling in his own skin as more and more people placed rumours over his head, around his life, and made them into fact because of the way people acted around him. The way they actually _believed_ them. She defended, though, that he did nothing to deny and correct the horrible things being said about him. If anything, he only made everything worse with his dodgy actions and degrading insults.

But, she stopped herself, nothing good would come of her dwelling on this. It had taken her more than a month to tell herself his personality was worth the hour every night they spent with one another, and a following two or three weeks to realize that, actually, he wasn't half bad. That was when the civility started. But friendship... She assumed that would take more than ten years, give or take, because of how much they seemed to argue.

It would never work.

And so, they worked diligently for forty minutes, caught in their own work and nothing more. Hermione, however, happened upon a very interesting passage in her Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook, a question at the tip of her tongue before she remembered he wasn't inclined to talk to her at all.

She asked it anyway, though, after a very interesting five minutes of internal argument about the pros and cons of actually breaching this select subject.

"Is it...is it true that, well, pureblooded sons have no say? That...that their fathers...you know."

His answer riveted her. "I didn't ask for anything when I was born, Granger. I didn't ask for anything when I grew up, because everything was handed to me, cleverly done so that there was never a way out for me. I never questioned my father's orders because it was never even an option, a _possibility_ in our household. I didn't know the defiance of a father existed. I never knew better...until I came to Hogwarts and realized that not everybody grew up like I did. That, upon further inspection, you half-bloods and Muggle-borns had the best life, if you could call it that even. You could also say that this alone made it easier for me to hate you all when my father told me to do so. A lot easier, actually."

Hermione was silent for a moment, taking in everything he'd said. She was more than a little surprised that he even answered her, but his reply had caused inquiries beyond inquiries to erupt within her. "And your father never asked your opinion on...on _anything_?"

Draco sighed, his chest sinking with the movement, and he placed his arm behind his head as he gazed up at the ceiling in what she assumed was contemplation. "When I was a little younger than six, my father casually asked whether I wanted to be like him or the dead house-elf he had just avada-ed in front of me, simply because it cleaned the wrong room for his guests." He shifted a little, turning his head further from her curious expression. "I was almost six. The comparison left no other option, and it shed light on how much I'd apparently have to be, essentially, just like him. Exactly like him. No exceptions, no backtalk.

"Up until a year ago, I'd followed orders, expressed my hatred for things he hated, and executed every single order he gave me. It's just a part of being a pureblooded son, Granger. The blood is the same, and ancient tradition states the heirs of the father must be the same. It was never something I could control, nor any other pureblooded male for that matter, and that's that. It's written as rule, and even before learning our first word, we are taught that you always, under any circumstances, follow rules."

He paused in his recollection, swiping a hand through his hair. He looked almost comfortable, just sitting there, sharing something he probably deemed extremely personal. This, of course, contradicted all the hostility he'd thrown toward her in the past few days, but she'd learned to take his personality in stride because he always reacted in a manner that was entirely understandable to her, no doubt how confusing it was at first. There was always a reason for what he did.

Then he shrugged, slowly, before his gaze snapped to hers without preamble. "And if you even decide to get the notion you can go on and relay all that to Potter, I'll have you by the fucking hair."

Strange, that. Maybe he was going back on how he'd started acting. Again.

"I don't tell him everything you say, Draco," she spoke softly, biting her lip. If anything, she didn't want him to believe that she went directly to Harry and proceeded to tell him every single detail of every single thing he'd ever said. Since she'd finally admitted her tutorship of Draco to Harry, he'd brought it up a mere two times, only to make certain that he wasn't treating her improperly or some such nonsense.

"Your loyalty states you tell him everything I say."

She sighed, looking back to her book. "Believe what you want, Malfoy. I've already said I haven't."

"What I believe doesn't matter, Granger. As you now know." Referring to the pureblooded tradition?

She gaped for an entire minute at her book, shocked at yet another admission he probably wouldn't want to say to anyone else. This was, perhaps, one of the saddest things she'd ever heard, especially after his tale of his childhood. He'd basically been brainwashed into believing everything his father told him, and after Lucius had been shacked up in Azkaban following their fifth-year, he'd had to cope with having his own opinions and beliefs, and then acting on them. No wonder he'd been so confused and utterly broken last year.

Hermione had the sudden urge to cross the room and bundle him in the safe embrace of her arms. But, she argued quickly, he would be anything but pleasant and pliable – anything but happy to have her sympathy. In fact, she rather thought he'd just push her away and stalk out of the room in a huff, never to come back again.

So, instead: "Remember...that I'm always here to talk, Draco. And we can still be..."

The rest of her sentence instantly died on her lips when Draco shut the book in response, getting up from the sofa with an expression of sheer anger. She stood up as well, already on defence – he couldn't walk away from this. He _shouldn't_ walk away from this, when he so clearly needed someone. Why did he always have to do this? This time, she would fight for him and not let him walk out that door before he agreed to...to _something_ more than just this civil rubbish.

"I'm not talking to you about anything," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"And why can't you?" Hermione asked softly, searching his eyes much like she had when he'd stopped her from her fall in the corridor. "You know...you know I obviously remembered what you said a few days ago, that I clearly wouldn't forget your...your thoughts. That I wouldn't forget simply because you've been treating this- This relationship we made like it was never even there. That you never even cared at all."

And then, when his eyes only twitched and he made no response: "What is so hard that makes having friends impossible for you? Is it...it's because you know you might lose them, isn't it? That there's a possibility they could lose you, or you could lose them, so why try in the first place?

"I've even seen you with Blaise and Pansy, and that isn't even _close_ to what a friendship should be...what it could be, and how much they could really help you-"

"I don't give a fuck what you think, Granger," Malfoy intervened, cutting her off. "I don't get close to people, I don't _talk about my feelings_, and I certainly wouldn't associate myself with the likes of you in that way. Now get it into your bloody head that I, actually, _don't_ want to be friends with you."

With that, he stood in silence a moment longer, probably to make sure that she wouldn't come back with an even longer spurt than his, before he walked past her.

She heard the click of the door a second after.

Hermione bit her top lip, on the very edge of having tears cascading down her cheeks at a rapid pace. She should have presumed that would have happened... She should have _known_ he'd cut her exactly where it hurt so she wouldn't attempt to make him stay with her soft words. And it worked. Perfectly.

Shivering, she sat down where she'd previously been sitting and hated that she'd failed him once again. She didn't know what to do anymore. He was still lonely, and yet again, she wanted to help him even more than before.

**xv.**  
_Day 40; 8:43 pm._

"Ron hasn't said anything to you, has he?"

"Nothing at all," Harry answered, gazing at Hermione. "I don't see why you two can't just get together already. I mean...he dumped Lavender, asked you what you thought of that, and you_shrugged_ and changed the subject from things that 'didn't matter'. You could have...you could have finally told him, and then everything would have been better..."

Hermione laughed softly, however trying to keep silent in the quietness of the library. "I wasn't going to be the rebound, Harry. He may think he did it for me, but it's instinct to look for another companion when coming out of a relationship, and they've been known to never last. It's statistics-"

"You and your damn statistics," he chimed in. "That doesn't mean things couldn't have been different. He barely even liked Lavender, compared to how you both were before everything. Besides, she was all over him, and trust me, it's hard to write off the advances of a pretty female."

"Oh, so I see that's how Ginny got you, did she?"

Harry smiled fondly, and Hermione tried not to be jealous of that exact look she yearned to have some day. "I got Ginny because we both wanted each other, and not because she was annoying twit looking only for a snog."

"Well...that's honestly luck, Harry. I'm really glad for you both, but...Ron and I aren't like that. I just don't think that after all this time we'd be good for each other. There's been so many chances we could have had something, and if we've already passed them up so many times, who says we should try and make it seem forced?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply to her curiosity, probably ready to assure her that it was just_meant to be_ because they were his best friends, and it's been like that all along. But...

"Potter."

She and Harry turned sharply toward the voice – her more so, she thought, because it had been three days since she'd spoken to him. They'd gone from seeing each other every day, to him finally not showing up to any of their sessions after their last argument. She had berated herself every time he'd been absent, so much so she'd gotten absolutely no work done whatsoever, making her berate herself even more.

She wondered, suddenly, what the hell he was doing here. And why he was focusing his attention on Harry.

Hermione noticed his shock of blond hair before she saw Blaise and Pansy flanking either side of him. They looked remarkably similar to her, Harry, and Ron, she realized, although suggestively and with clearly darker intentions than the three of them.

"We have a proposition for you," Draco began, looking the entire part of sophisticated and serious.

"We trust it says enough that we're even here, and that we're not messing with you for shits and giggles like you're probably thinking we're doing," Blaise picked up, and Hermione's attention was drawn to him instead.

Then Pansy continued. "We've come to ask you to hear us out on a matter we believe is of a great deal of importance to you, Potter."

Harry remained silent for a moment beside her, likely mulling over what the hell was going on, and as the silence stretched, Hermione was ready to pick up for him.

Malfoy beat her to it. "So, how about it then?"

* * *

**Again,** it would be great to hear from reviewers. I've put a lot of work into this :).

- Jen.


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